The Witching Hour
by strange horror
Summary: A strange, malevolent force is unwittingly awakened by the Son on Mortis.
1. Abyss

**Author's Note:**

I've been wanting to write this for awhile. Enjoy, y'all.

 **Pairings:** Darth Vader/Padmé Amidala

 **Warnings:** Graphic Depictions of violence, sexual content, horror, dark humor, foul language, and disturbing themes.

 **Main Cast:** Darth Vader, Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Asajj Ventress, Darth Sidious, Count Dooku, Captain Rex, General Grievous.

 **Genres:** Horror, Thriller, Dark Comedy, Action/Adventure, Sci-Fi

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noun

1\. the witching hour, the hour at which witches are supposed to appear, usually midnight

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 **Chapter One: Abyss**

 _Well . . . this is certainly unexpected_ , Vader observed, eyeing the cavernous monolith of earth surrounding him. The gorge was circular and precipitously steep, extending upwards until it formed a crude hole in lieu of a proper opening. A velvety night sky peeked through the small aperture, the the stars overhead twinkling dimly. Magma licked at the rock slab where he lay kneeling, the heat pricking at his skin and stinging his eyes. It was all too horribly reminiscent of Mustafar, but by the Force, this infernal pit was far more preferable than the intolerable hell of his life-support suit. His stay in the netherworld was already getting off to a favorable start. He awkwardly flexed his fingers, savoring the sensation. Vader blinked slowly, sucking in a breath of hot, dry air as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Do you see now—the future you will be forced to endure, should you continue along this path?" The slick, arrogant voice of the Son called out from behind him.

The Son's presence in the pit briefly startled Vader, though he betrayed no outward sign of his shock. After a moment's consideration, he decided that it was ultimately not worth noting. The Son had slaughtered his own sister and plotted to end his father's life; kith-killers were all too welcome in Chaos, the darkest region in the netherworld of the living Force.

Even though Vader had sacrificed himself in order to save the life of his son, he had no illusions about where exactly he would end up once he passed on. Serenity, peace—the notion that he would ever be worthy of receiving those pleasures was laughable. He was destined to suffer through an eternity of punishment as a shade, driven mad by his own woe. Though his newfound existence as a thrice-cursed spirit was getting off to a rather odd start, seeing as he was already facing off against an old enemy he'd not thought of in decades. _So it has begun,_ Vader mused, sighing deeply. He twisted to face the tall, wraith-like form of the Son. The man's red eyes gleamed maliciously, and an oily little smirk tugged at his thin lips. A low, seething hatred burned within Vader at the sight.

"I have shown you these portentous visions because I know that together we can prevent these events from transpiring—" The Son was abruptly cut off by Vader's furious outburst.

"You _dare_ speak to me in such a manner, knowing that this 'future' you speak of has already occurred?" Vader spat, stalking towards the Force-wielder. The Dark scorched its way through his veins, writhing with a feverish intensity as it fed off his rising well of fury. A sick grin twisted its way across Vader's face. _I'm going to enjoy this,_ he thought, gathering white-hot electricity at his fingertips.

"I don't understand. Nothing of consequence has happened yet," The Son protested, almost unconsciously taking a step backwards. He wasn't quite pleading with Vader, but there was an unsettled air to the man. It was a sublime thing to bear witness to.

"Your beliefs matter little now. They will burn alongside your corpse," Vader roared, unleashing a barrage of Force-lightning from his organic hand. The blast struck the Son in the chest and arced cruelly along his body, eliciting an agonized wail from the man. His pale skin bubbled and softened under the deluge, slipping off like candle wax, while the continuous pressure bloated his eyes until they burst, spilling out a gooey, viscous liquid from the empty sockets. The flesh of the Son's face was torn asunder, splitting open like a gaping abscess. Vader was intimately reminded of Sidious' degradation under this very attack, where his own black powers were turned against him. Vader ended the onslaught and strode over to the horribly mutilated remains of his foe, the same smile from earlier stretching grotesquely wide across his face.

Vader wasn't sure if he could permanently kill another being in this accursed place, but he had deeply enjoyed the process. If he was allowed to torture those he vehemently despised for an eternity—well, he was at least making the best of his situation. In all honesty, things could be much worse for him, considering. He had complete access to the Force, his old body—or at the very least, the likeness of it—had been restored, and he now had something to occupy his time with. Vader lightly toed the corpse, the impact of the heavy boot punctuated with a wet squelch.

The Son appeared to be the only other specter residing in this particular region of Chaos, so it was clear that he would need to venture elsewhere to find stimulation. Vader turned to leave, but the horribly familiar Force-presence of his old Master stopped him cold. He nearly gaped in shock. _Obi-Wan Kenobi—what in the nine hells are you_ _doing here?_

" _Anakin_ —what have you done?" The familiar clipped tone of Obi-Wan's thick Coruscanti accent rang out harshly in the silence of the abyss. Vader pivoted to face the other man, finding himself unsurprised by how terribly young Obi-Wan looked. His gingery hair was in disarray, pale eyes widened in horror as he carefully advanced on Vader.

"You know very well that I have not gone by that accursed name in decades, old man. I have no quarrel with you—not anymore—but I would _love_ to know why _you_ of all people have decided to take a little jaunt through Chaos," Vader hissed. Obi-Wan's brow furrowed, and a baffled expression crossed his freckled visage. He raised his hands in surrender, but continued to move closer to Vader.

"The Son has twisted your mind, Anakin. We are on Mortis, deep within the Well of the Dark Side. Ahsoka is waiting for us back at the ship so that we can finally depart from this unnatural place. You are no Sith, my friend—let this foreign Darkness bleed out of you, and then we can _leave_ ," Obi-Wan breathed, his anguish almost palpable in the Force. Their bond, which had been so cruelly severed on Mustafar all those years ago, pulsated feebly.

Vader's heart thudded weakly in his chest. _This can't be possible . . . has he merely come here to taunt me—to torment me with memories of a life long since passed?_ A creeping sense of déjà vu slithered along his spine, and the minute details of his surroundings sharpened into better focus. The chthonian enclosure stretched out above him like a gaping maw, drifting embers illuminating the craggy surface with an almost sickly glow. When he left Mortis all those years ago, Vader never thought he'd forget this sulphurous hellhole. Hazy memories of his brief time here slithered through the corners of his mind like wriggling serpents. Unless he had already been driven mad by his stay in Chaos, then _this_ —whatever it was—might be something else altogether.

"This is truly Mortis?" He rasped, gazing at the stars overhead. Their soft light burned worse than the heat of the magma, and he longed to be closer to them.

"Yes, Anakin—we are deep within the bowels of the planet, in a place where the Darkness gathers and festers. We must leave now, before your condition worsens and this state becomes permanent. The Father will surely be able to aid us," Obi-Wan replied earnestly. Vader grimaced.

"He can do nothing for me, _Master._ I am no longer the Anakin Skywalker you know, nor will I ever be. The Son perverted the very laws of nature and has called me forth from the gloom. He has since reaped the consequences of his thoughtless actions," Vader spat, gesturing at the corpse. "Nothing can save me now, not when I know intimately what destruction and terror I will wreak."

"I'm afraid that I can't accept that. If I have to use force to—ahem, _persuade_ you to accompany me, then so be it," Obi-Wan responded, igniting his saber. Vader cackled madly.

"This is a foolish endeavor. The very air here fuels my power and saps your strength—you are at a severe disadvantage, one that I will find no trouble making use of," Vader bit out, eyes burning with power as the Dark blazed within him. He didn't bother flicking on his blade; it wouldn't be necessary for this battle.

"If it means saving my friend, then I will most certainly play the fool," Obi-Wan cried as he leapt forward, swinging his lightsaber down in a fierce arc of blue. Vader pivoted to the side, narrowly dodging the strike. Obi-Wan flowed seamlessly into his next strike as he righted himself and jerked his blade harshly upwards, lunging into a deadly volley of tightly compacted stabs. Vader ducked and weaved around the attacks, grinning as the other man sent him an infuriated glare.

"Aren't you going to fight back?" Obi-Wan bit out, clearly irritated. It was an out of character statement for the usually level-headed man, but Vader supposed that seeing your best friend be mysteriously consumed by the Dark Side was an apt a motivation as any.

"The lightsaber is far from being my only source of strength, Obi-Wan. Behold the foul abilities bestowed upon only the most knowledgeable of Sith Sorcerors. _Galez tave jena\'tes buti aukotijas natura_ ," Vader intoned, contorting his hands into the arcane gestures needed to summon Dark Side tendrils. Animate shadows formed around Obi-Wan's feet, the vaporous curls twisting up to eat away at the blade held aloft in his hand. Obi-Wan cried out in pain and released the weapon, where it was consumed by the writhing darkness. Vader could feel the other man's disquiet through the restored bond, but Obi-Wan's hard face revealed nothing.

"That was merely a small example of the true depths of the Dark Side's depravity, and it is eclipsed by legions of far more monstrous abilities. Shall I show you another?" Vader queried rhetorically, stretching his mind across their bond to envelope the other's. Qâzoi Kyantuska was an ability he had often used with his more unruly subordinates, as well as those he needed to _acquire_ information from. It completely suppressed the mind of the victim, leaving them in a trance-like state where they were unable to wrest control over their own faculties. Those who fell prey to this technique were left utterly malleable in the hands of the caster. Obi-Wan struggled viciously under the assault, but with the additional aid of the pit's innate darkness, Vader quickly subsumed his mind. The great Jedi, once so venerated for his supreme strength of will, was left looking as though he were lost in a dazed stupor. The irony was not lost on Vader, who rasped out a low laugh at the sight.

"Pilot your speeder back to the ship. I will follow close behind," he instructed, using the Force to call his own vehicle to him. He flicked on the power and revved it wildly, quickly catching up to Obi-Wan, who was swerving through the cascades of lava erupting from the sides of the chasm. They sped around the circumference of the Well of the Dark Side, shooting up through the fissure at the top onto the dusky earth of Mortis. The adumbrated land stretched out before him like a dark mass, with only the occasional tree or bush forming a distinguishable shape. The cold air whipped brutally at his cheeks as he increased his speed, but Vader paid it no mind. He hadn't felt this alive in decades, and he was going to relish every facet of his newfound humanity. Pain, pleasure—ecstasy, agony; these were all sides of the same coin. He didn't care about where or when he was, only that he would live for himself this time around. _There are no gods, no masters—only me, and whatever path I decide to take._

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 **A/N:**

Sith magic is an expression of the Dark Side of the Force that can manifest itself in a variety of ways, and can only be used by those who have utterly embraced the Dark (i.e. Sith). All of the abilities featured in this story are canonical, but certain liberties will be taken so as to enhance the plot.

Dark Side Tendrils:

Appears as a tentacle-like black mist, but can easily be confused with shadows. They can burn, and even completely disintegrate whatever they come into contact with.

Qâzoi Kyantuska:

Allows the user to control the mind of anyone they chose.

Sith Language Translation:  
"Galez tave jena\'tes buti aukotijas natura." — 'May the darkness be given life.'


	2. Idolatry

**Chapter Two: Idolatry**

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The pyriform outline of the ship loomed high on the horizon as Vader and Obi-Wan sped through the oblate gloom of Mortis' flatlands. Vader could sense the agitated presences of the Father and Ahsoka, who were likely lying in wait for them. It was clear that the Father had felt the death of his child, as well the Darkness that emanated from Vader like an ever-present stygian cloak. He could have disguised his Force-presence easily, even from a being as powerful as the Father, but Vader deemed it unnecessary. He _was_ going to have to slaughter the Father either way, if they were ever to get off this wretched planet.

It was unfortunate that Ahsoka, in all her youthful righteousness, would surely deign to aid the Father in his plight. It was a misguided attempt to simultaneously 'save' her friends and provide assistance to someone in need, but she really wouldn't be Ahsoka if she didn't stand up for what she thought was right. A strange, agonizing warmth coalesced in Vader's heart. _Ahsoka . . ._ The image of an older, more hardened Togruta woman drifted the forefront of his mind, her decisive judgment echoing cruelly alongside the visual. _I thought I know who you were under that mask. But it's impossible. My master could never be so vile!_

He briefly pressed a hand to his eyes, choosing to ignore the soft wetness that formed there. Vader clenched his teeth and quickened his speed, wildly swerving around the cadaverous form of a dead tree, whose impotent branches stretched into the sky like the grasping claw of a vengeful hellion. He could see the eerie gleam of Ahsoka's twin sabers illuminating the fallen vessel, the skeletal figure of the Father emerging from behind her short form like a ghastly shadow. Vader's resolve deepened. He would not fail her this time; he would not strike her down. Vader had killed everyone he ever loved, but not now—never again would he become that monstrous being who would take savage pleasure in destroying what once belonged to the heroic Jedi Anakin Skywalker. His closest friend, his apprentice, his angel . . . _I will save them all, no matter the cost. They will not understand why it has to be this way; not for a long time, but that is a price I am more than willing to pay._

Obi-Wan arrived at the site shortly before Vader, leaping off his speeder in a limber display of agility. It was nice to see the man in top form again; it eased the pain of having witnessed his state as feeble old sage who had fallen so ever so easily to Vader's blade. The dull, slow-witted expression on Obi-Wan's face tainted his appreciation somewhat, seeing as he was one of the most keen thinkers Vader had ever known. His use of Qâzoi Kyantuska was necessary evil though; he needed Obi-Wan's full cooperation for his current endeavor, and if using metal coercion was the only way to ensure that, then so be it.

"You will subdue Ahsoka while I attack the Father. Do not kill or permanently maim her," Vader growled, drawing his lightsaber and igniting it. The familiar blue blade felt almost cumbersome in his hands, as though it weren't meant for him. Vader supposed that this was a weapon destined to be wielded by Anakin Skywalker and his kin alone, a sacred object not meant for the changeling who had replaced him.

"Masters, what are you doing?" Ahsoka cried, face twisted into a mask of anguish. She was intelligent enough not to lower her sabers, maintaining her battle-ready position of the opening form of Shien.

This served her well, as Obi-Wan immediately lunged towards her at Vader's command. She was forced to swing the dual blades upwards synchronously to parry Obi-Wan's fierce strike. Obi-Wan pressed his blade down, his sheer strength forcing Ahsoka backwards through the gritty earth. She dropped to one knee and swiveled to the side, letting her sabers scrape down the length of Obi-Wan's as she righted herself. There was a ferocious gleam to her blue eyes, and her mouth was drawn into a resolute line. Ahsoka Tano would not be brought down easily. A peculiar feeling that Vader could vaguely identify as being pride swelled up within him. His grip on Skywalker's lightsaber tightened, and he turned to face the Father. The being had not moved from his spot near the ship's entrance, but swiftly became animate under Vader's scrutiny.

"You do not belong in this place, _abomination_ ," the Father hissed, wizened visage gnarled horrifically by fury. Red electricity sparked dangerously along his bony fingers and shot out towards Vader, who deflected the deluge with the blade.

"What an astute observation—I can see that your old age has certainly lent you an acute intellect," Vader rasped, grinning wickedly as he leapt at the being. His muscles flexed gloriously as he flipped into one of the more brutally offensive moves of Djem So, saber little more than a blue spear of light arcing down towards the Father. His breath did not rattle in his chest; he was not permanently afflicted with old hurts. What a divine sensation it was—to be made of sinew and flesh once more. Vader would enjoy making full use of this body.

The Father barely dodged the attack, but quickly unleashed another jet of lightning at Vader. It was all too easy to catch the energy and redirect it back towards its progenitor, who let out a tormented scream as the red light circulated along his frail limbs. Vader nearly laughed at the being's attempt to defeat him—he had served under a consummate master of the black art for decades. The Father would have to do much better than that if he wanted to best him.

 _"Father!"_ Ahsoka screamed, but was too entrenched in her own vicious battle against Obi-Wan to come to the Father's aid. It was for the best; Vader wasn't sure if he could lay a hand against her at this point, and he required her compliance for his escape plan. Utilizing Obi-Wan as a means of ensuring that submission was preferable to doing the deed himself.

Vader cut off the barrage of electricity and stepped closer to the fallen being. The Father lay awkwardly sprawled in the rough dirt, emaciated chest heaving frantically. His face was horrendously disfigured, large pockets of flesh swollen into gooey bubbles that leaked a clear fluid. His eyes were pulpy masses of roughened viscera, and blood dribbled from his nose and mouth. Vader didn't even bother resisting the urge to cackle madly.

"It's astounding how far you've fallen, filth—but I shall damn you even more. _Galez chaosas vykti tu\'iea vele, zioplys!"_ He commanded, savoring the feeling of the Dark licking its way through his veins. Vader focused inwardly on his vitriolic hatred at his own powerlessness; his pathetic inability to even save those he cared for. A smoldering, frothing rage boiled within him, but it wasn't enough. Vader deepened his loathing, fixating on how much he utterly despised his years of servility to the vile creature who killed his beloved wife and _lied_ to him. He let out a harsh, ragged breath. The outline of a white, cylindrical shaft of light appeared in the palm of his organic hand, flickering erratically until a fully formed bolt of hatred materialized into being. He tossed the beam at the Father, whose tortured moan rang out in tandem with the liquefaction of his thin tissue and atrophied muscle. The cries of a thousand damned souls echoed alongside the Father's wail as he was slowly melted into a puddle of blood and entrails.

This particular ability had the lovely side-effect of tormenting the victim both mentally _and_ physically, as well as being able to literally condemn the afflicted to an eternity of suffering in Chaos. It was considered by many to be the most depraved of the Sith magicks for good reason. The Father would be dragged down into Chaos by the wraiths, where he would made to endure a hellish afterlife of supreme agony. At least his foul beast of a child would be there to keep him company. Vader sneered at the being's corpse, glad to have rid himself of the obstruction.

Vader felt Ahsoka's Force-presence dim, indicating that she had lost consciousness. It seemed that Obi-Wan had finally managed to overpower his hot-tempered apprentice. The Togruta girl's face was slightly bloodied, but she was otherwise unharmed. Vader was glad to see that Obi-Wan had heeded his instructions.

"Take her to the ship and restrain her. We don't want her to be mobile when she wakes," Vader said, gesturing towards the craft. He would have normally used Qâzoi Kyantuska on Ahsoka as well, but a foreign hesitance impeded the action. He could readily admit that he had never particularly enjoyed subverting the will of another unless it was truly necessary—it brought forth too many memories of his time as a slave with no independence of his own—but this was something intrinsically _different._ It seemed like it was almost rooted in compassion, an emotion that had been anathema to Vader for decades. He supposed that it, like everything else, could be traced back to the interference of his son. Vader decided to cease his rumination on the matter, and stalked up the ramp after Obi-Wan. The man in question was tying Ahsoka to a chair, her sabers set on the table beside him. Vader strode past the scene and into the cockpit, where he settled down into the pilot's chair and began to initiate takeoff.

The craft flickered to life and hovered momentarily in place before shooting off into the dark sky, the stars blurring into lambent streaks as they sped past. The galaxy soon stretched out before them like a endless ocean, the nebulae and solar systems glimmering dimly from afar. Vader ran a gloved hand over his chin, letting himself luxuriate in the sublime beauty of the macrocosmos. It always bestowed upon him the sensation of insignificance, as though his actions could never possibly have enough gravitas to where he had the power to end worlds and extinguish the lives of billions. It was like he was merely a speck of dust in the ultimate cosmic order. There was no Chosen One, no 'Hero With No Fear,' no Lord Vader—only a man, and the vast expanse of space.

Vader rubbed at his forehead and pushed an unruly blond curl out of his eyes. _I am beholden to no one, now. My actions are my own; my decisions are my own. I am subservient to none._ These thoughts circled through Vader's mind as he set course for Coruscant. It was the most dangerous place in the known galaxy for him to be at the moment, but there was nothing to it—his beloved was there, and a second chance would be rendered meaningless without her angelic presence in his life. Padmé . . . _I'm going to see you again. After all these years, we will finally be reunited._ The ship shot forward into hyperspace, each second of travel slowly decreasing the distance between them.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Bolt of Hatred:  
A pure, concentrated projectile comprised of hatred fueled by the Dark Side. It causes intense pain and mental torture. Think Cruciatus Curse x 100. If used for any prolonged length of time, it will liquefy the victim.

Sith Language Translation:

"Galez chaosas vykti tu\'iea vele, zioplys!" — 'May chaos take your soul, fool!'


	3. Gehenna

**Chapter Three: Gehenna**

* * *

Ahsoka regained consciousness three hours into hyperspace. Vader felt her Force-presence flicker and brighten, like tinder stoked into a conflagration. Their former Master-Padawan bond burned concurrently with her awakening, nearly eliciting a low sob from him. His grip on the armrest of the pilot's seat tightened, thick gloves dragging across the rough material. He blinked slowly—one, two, three times—each action punctuated with a soft thud from his traitorous heart. _Ahsoka . . . Obi-Wan . . ._ A ragged breath crawled its way out of his throat. To experience the staggering weight of such profound connections with those who once thought of him as family—one who had loved him as a brother; the other, a _father_ —was startlingly beautiful. _How could I have lived bereft of this for so long?_ Vader may have sloughed off Skywalker's weaknesses like a snake would its skin, but he had never been able to rid himself of the man's frenetic need for intimacy, for _love._ He wasn't sure that he wanted to.

An irate shout could be heard echoing into the cockpit from the belly of the ship, followed by series of erratic thumps as Ahsoka struggled to free herself from the bindings Obi-Wan had fastened around her. The Togruta's scorching fury licked its way through their newly reformed bond, drawing forth a swell of bittersweet nostalgia from Vader. How many times had he felt Ahsoka lose herself to her passions like this before—whether it be to the raging maelstrom of her own righteous anger, or the fathomless depths of her abounding compassion for others? It was something that belonged to another life, one where he had failed her _utterly_.

A heavy crash reverberated through the interior of the craft. Vader sighed deeply; it seemed that he needed to attend to his 'prisoner.' He rose to his feet and stalked back to where she was being held. The partition opened to reveal Ahsoka laying sprawled on the floor, having tipped the chair over in her increasingly violent attempts at escape. Obi-Wan stood off to the side, staring blankly into space. The effects of Vader's protracted use of Qâzoi Kyantuska were abundantly obvious. The man's eyes were clouded over with a filmy whiteness, the opacity lending him the appearance of being blind. Thick, bulging veins spiraled out from the affected area, worming their way under his skin like inky serpents. His lips were tinged black with ichor, mouth hanging open like a horrible, gaping maw. Viscous drool dripped sluggishly down his chin. It was unsettling, but not surprising. Qâzoi Kyantuska was a strangely poetic ability, as the possession of one's mind was always outwardly reflected onto the victim's physical body. A thin whisper of guilt coalesced within Vader, but was swiftly squashed. He would cease his suppression of Obi-Wan's will soon; this would not last forever.

"Say something to me, you bastard! I know you're in there somewhere, Obi-Wan—" Ahsoka's wrathful tirade cut off abruptly once she caught sight of him. Her eyes narrowed into hateful little slits. "Who in the hells are you, and what have you done with my Master?" She struggled uselessly against her restraints, a futile attempt to lunge at Vader and throttle him senseless. He resisted the urge to laugh at her.

"Oh, but I _am_ Anakin Skywalker—or at the very least, I used to be. I suppose you could consider me to be his fate, his _future_ ," Vader replied, pulling up another chair and settling down in it. He waved a hand, and Ahsoka was lifted back upright, now facing him directly.

"I don't believe it! My master is a good man—he would _never_ turn to the Dark Side!" She yelled in outrage, body vibrating with barely-restrained anger. Vader let out a slow exhale. Her faith in Skywalker was endearing, but horribly misplaced. It would need to be rectified, because Anakin Skywalker had—and always would—give himself over to the Dark. He said nothing for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts properly. Vader wanted—no, _needed_ her to understand him.

"It is _so_ easy to Fall, to allow your passions to consume you utterly. Being subsumed by emotion—whether it be to wrath, despair, or even love—is beginning of the descent. The archetypical Darksider is conceived of as being a creature dominated by a frenzied savagery, armed solely with the goal of wreaking mindless destruction on all whom they encounter. While being rather . . . _common,_ unfortunately—Darkness is not always derived from a lust for brutality and suffering. You see, one can start out with the best of intentions, desiring to use such powers for a greater cause than merely one's own gain.

What would you do in order to save those you cherish? Would you allow yourself to plummet into the stygian abyss of the Dark if it was the only means by which you could save your master's life? What about remaining faithful to your moral compass, to what you know intrinsically to be right? If the Jedi Order commanded you to go against them, would you still follow their unyielding path? A choice was presented to Anakin Skywalker: does he save the life of his wife and children, or hold true to his long-held belief in the almighty steadfastness of the Light? He decided that his family was far more important than mere _ideals_ and let himself be devoured. It was not vengeance that compelled him to Fall. It was not hate. It was _love,_ the most persuasive of all affections, that forced his hand," Vader rasped, closing his eyes and rubbing at his forehead. Ahsoka was unsympathetic, his words having only incensed her further.

"How can I possibly believe that? You slaughtered the Father like an animal! You hurt your best friend! My master would never do those things, even if he _did_ Fall. You're just a fucking _liar_ ," she bit out, nearly spitting in fury. Vader barked out a bitter laugh and swept to his feet, knocking his seat over in the process.

"The Father was a being who could destroy entire worlds with nary a thought; putting him down was for the benefit of the galaxy as a whole. My actions could very well have spared us all from his tyranny. You should be _thanking_ me! As for Obi-Wan, he is completely unharmed, merely under my control. The visible side-effects of the particular ability I'm utilizing to suppress his will are _unfortunate—_ I will readily admit to that—but hardly permanent. I will release him once we arrive at Coruscant and my need for his complete cooperation is satisfied," Vader spat. The blood drained from Ahsoka's face, and a fierce wave of terror surged through the bond.

"Y-you're going to Coruscant? _No_ —you can't! I won't let you! I'll die before I'd _ever_ allow you to destroy the Jedi!" She cried, chair haphazardly lurching forward as she thrashed wildly.

"I could care less about the Jedi—they can do as they please. My wife resides on Coruscant, and I want nothing more than to be reunited with her. You're reading far too much into my actions," Vader scoffed, brushing the accusation off.

"You kidnapped me, brainwashed Obi-Wan—I mean, _look_ at him; he's basically a walking corpse right now—and literally _melted_ an innocent being into a puddle of goo right before my eyes! Not to mention the fact that you're a fucking _Sith Lord_. How could I expect anything _else_ from you at this point?"

"That old bastard will be fine!" Vader shouted, finally losing his patience with her. "He'll come out of this situation with a small migraine, and that will be the end of it. By the Force Snips, I kill one— _one_ , as in singular—being, and you act like I'm gearing up to burn down the fucking Jedi Temple!" Arguing with Ahsoka had become second-nature to Vader over the years, and it was all too easy for the pet name to slip out once he lost himself to the fury of his diatribe. Once he realized his error, Vader grimaced and licked at his lips, the name like ash on his tongue. Ahsoka froze at the epithet, eyes widening in horror.

" _Skyguy?"_ She whispered after a beat. Her small form trembled faintly, and he could see that she was furiously blinking away a hot swell of angry tears.

"I may be many things, Snips—but a liar isn't one of them," Vader replied, pushing an unruly blond curl out of his eyes. He was suddenly overcome with a feeling he couldn't quite explain—one that made it hard to meet her accusing gaze, one that induced a blazing ache in his chest. It felt almost like . . . _shame?_ He looked away from her, unable to bear it.

They said nothing for several moments, both choosing to share in an uneasy silence. When Ahsoka finally opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by a low, rattling groan emanating deep from within Obi-Wan's throat. The man had remained utterly motionless during Vader and Ahsoka's entire conversation, and was still staring blankly into space. The sight of him standing there, rigidly fixed into place as a rasping wail was torn from his jaw, would be mildly disconcerting if Vader hadn't borne witness to it dozens of times before. He sighed in annoyance; mind control could be such a hassle, sometimes.

"Close your mouth and turn around," he commanded. Obi-Wan complied, gnashing his blackened teeth together and swiveling to face the far wall. Ahsoka seemed to be watching the spectacle unfold with a sort of sick fascination present on her face.

"Does this happen frequently?" She asked.

"Victims of Qâzoi Kyantuska always degrade to such a state. It's rather irritating, but the boons are too useful to discount the ability," Vader responded.

"Can you actually make him do _anything?_ " She looked unnerved by the statement.

"I could ask him to put a blaster in his mouth and pull the trigger, and he would my orders unquestioningly."

"That's monstrous," she breathed.

"I know. I would never do that to him, though—I care about Obi-Wan too much for that," Vader said, clenching his fists. He'd already ended the bastard's life once before, and was loathe to let it happen again. He owed the man who raised him that much, at the very least.

"How are you here? What happened to you on Mortis?" Ahsoka asked, now seemingly vested in making actual conversation with Vader instead of yelling at him. It was a start, he supposed.

"The Son conjured my spirit, likely from the very depths of Chaos itself, when he attempted to show Anakin Skywalker visions of his future. He has since paid the price for that mistake. I do not know where my past self has disappeared to, but there is a high probability that he's been incorporated into my greater consciousness," Vader speculated, closely watching the way Ahsoka's mouth tightened into a grim line. She cast her eyes down, faint tremors racking her body. A soft whimper fell from her lips.

A deep, agonizing pain pervaded the length and breadth of his body, eliciting a harsh gasp from Vader—but for once, he was not the source of the misery. Ahsoka's anguish over the loss of her beloved master had diffused across their shared bond, and was now circulating synchronously through their veins like blood, like the midichlorians that bound them together. Vader pressed a hand to his chest, where the torturous ache spiraled out from; the heart, it was _always_ the heart. Only an organ, and yet it had the power to topple the greatest of empires, to break even the strongest of men. He sank to his knees in front of Ahsoka.

"I'm going to fix things this time, Snips. I won't make the same mistakes _he_ did. Anakin Skywalker failed everyone he ever cared about, but not me—I will save you, I will save Obi-Wan, I will save _her . . ._ I will give all of myself to this goal, and it shall be achieved, no matter the cost," he vowed, eyes burning as they spun into a sickly yellow. Ahsoka's face twisted into a bitter mask, the expression far too sorrowful for a girl as young as she was.

"Y-you really _are_ him, aren't you? Someone who is never able to let go of the people he loves, even if it means losing everything," she laughed, the caustic sound echoing out like a sob.

"I have long since transcended that impetuous fool. His very touch begat decay, engendered corrosion; I am his antithesis—I will be a savior, a true _hero._ "

This time Ahsoka giggled uncontrollably, all the while tears streamed down her cheeks. "A Sith Lord that wants to be a hero? Only you, Skyguy—only you." She paused to swallow thickly, then leaned forward until they were eye to eye. "I'll make you a deal, _savior_ —if you want my help in this crusade, then you've got it. I've always known that I'd wind up breaking the Code for you, and now seems to be as good a time as ever." When she finished, Ahsoka rocked back into her previous position with a dramatic little flourish. Vader was rendered momentarily speechless. Ahsoka Tano never ceased to defy all reason and logic, constantly upending his measures of her.

". . . You would do that for me?" He whispered.

"We're a team, dipshit. We _never_ give up on each other, even when the going gets tough," she said, far more kindly than he would ever deserve.

Vader scrambled towards Ahsoka and pulled the Togruta into a deep embrace, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. He let out a shuddering breath. " _Force,_ Snips—I missed you so much."

She awkwardly patted him on the back. "It's okay, Skyguy. I'm not going anywhere. Just tone down the whole 'melting people' thing. I might be deserting my entire livelihood out of loyalty to you, but I _really_ can't get behind that."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Gehenna  
[gi-hen-uh]  
noun  
1\. hell  
2\. any place of extreme torment or suffering.

Vader's reasoning is neither unbiased or really all that sound, y'all—remember that as the plot proceeds. He has learned much from Luke, but there is a lot, morality-wise, that continues to escape him. Vader's still gleefully and unapologetically melting people into puddles of goo, after all.

Ahsoka is going to be extremely important to the plot of this story. She will function as the deuteragonist, in addition to being Vader's 'conscience.' She and Vader will have a very complex relationship that will be explored in-depth.

Poor Zombie-Wan. His rattling groan sounds like the noise that Kayako Saeki makes in 'Ju-on.'


	4. Heathen

**A/N:**

This is categorized as being 'horror' for a reason, y'all . . .

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Heathen**

* * *

Vader lay on his back, surrounded on all sides by the thick, billowy swells of a heavy duvet. His head was propped carelessly on a downy pillow, golden curls spilling across the fabric like liquid gold. The air was sticky with wet heat, causing a thin sheen of sweat to form across the exposed skin of his face and chest. An errant drop trickled down from where it had beaded within the bow of his upper lip, slicking his mouth. He languidly ran his tongue over the chapped surface, tasting salt. His limbs were heavy with lethargy; the very thought of simple movement a chore. Vader was more than content to simply lie there and luxuriate in the divine comfort of the coverlet, cradled like a child within the embrace of its distended folds. He stared at the shadowy expanse of the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, the edges of his vision blurred by drowsiness. Time was meaningless, merely a footnote in the vast scope of celestial space—a haze broken only by the utterance of a name long since dead to him.

" _Ani_ ," a soft, horribly familiar voice murmured. Vader stirred briefly, indolence refusing to relinquish its grasp. Once more she spoke: " _Ani._ Oh, Ani—my love _."_

Vader startled awake, shock breathing life into his extremities. He scrambled onto his knees, eyes widening as he hungrily drank in the glorious sight of his Padmé, his _Angel._

The pale specter of his wife had materialized at the foot of his bed, having emerged from the gloom like a phantasmal wraith. She was beautiful; she was terrible—a goddess made manifest. Vader wanted nothing more than to worship at the altar of her body. A cascade of dark ringlets spiraled down her back, bridled in the front by a fragrant wreath of Nubian blossoms. She was clad in an intricately-woven lace negligee, delicate gossamer parted underneath a sheer brassiere to reveal the swollen curve of her pregnant stomach. Her eyes glimmered darkly, mouth curled into an enigmatic smile. Padmé sauntered towards him, ethereal form backlit by the soft glow of the moon. He was left breathless, tongue thick with stunned adoration.

Vader crawled to the end of the bed, gazing up at her with all the devotion of an apostle—or rather, a heathen. He would prostrate himself before her, a godless and profane man bowed low at the feet of his idol. No amount of piety or offerings could ever hope to illustrate the fathomless depths of his all-consuming love for this divine creature. Padmé, his goddess—his heavenly inamorata—leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, as though she were blessing him, wretched beast that he was. Vader closed his eyes and shuddered.

She stroked a finger across the concave hollow of his cheek, trails of liquid fire following her every touch. _Force_ , how he burned when he was with her. Padmé pushed a lock of his hair back, the curl dragging slightly against the clammy skin of his forehead. Vader's hands trembled; he could not bear this sweetness, not when for so long he had experienced only the blistering agony of old wounds.

"Lay back, Ani. Let me take care of you tonight," she whispered, gently pushing him down onto the covers. He fell back easily, all too willing to let her do as she pleased.

The duvet dipped under Padmé's added weight as she inched forward to settle on the flat planes of his stomach. Her bent knees bracketed his hipbones, her heavy stomach resting just beneath his chest. The soft swell of her ass barely brushed the top button of his trousers. She closed the distance between them as best she could, sidling nearer until they were both sharing the same hot air. He inhaled her intoxicating scent, a wondrous amalgamation of clean skin and the ambrosial perfume of flowers.

Vader craned his neck towards her, zealously consuming the minute details of her features. Padmé's eyes were large and mysterious, the strange light of the room lending them an almost coppery cast. A scattering of small moles marked her lightly flushed skin, the unevenness of her full lips endearing. He had never before seen anyone so perfect, so completely flawless and faultless. She was a sublime, radiant being; a goddess of love and wrath, meting out pain and pleasure in equal measures. He would be content to die by her hand. Padmé's Delphian grin intensified, stretching wide across her face; it was almost as though she could hear his thoughts, as though they were inexorably bound together by more than their hearts.

A hot, thick drop of viscid fluid impacted wetly on his brow, quickly descending into his left socket. Vader blinked dazedly, the spell broken. His lashes were sticky with what appeared to be blood, catching on each other as they fluttered clumsily. He pressed a hand to his eye, digits coming away red. He looked up at his wife, noting a thin trickle of blood beading down from her right nostril. She seemed unbothered by it, that same cryptic smile still present on her lips. An unsettled feeling crept up Vader's spine.

He glanced uneasily at his surroundings, finding that the scene had ever so subtly shifted during his lapse in attention. The moon had ascended high in the sky, the former pearlescent orb now a full, sickly yellow. It cast aberrant shadows across the contents of the suite, adumbrate curls appearing more like starless voids that hungered for light than any earthly darkness. The dank air constricted his throat and sank into his pores, the oppressive force bearing down on him like a palpable weight. Another drop of blood dripped onto his face, more substantial than before. He returned his gaze back to Padmé, who had remained eerily fixed in place. Blood flowed freely from her nose, splattering across her chin and décolletage.

The living circlet adorning her curls had grown and thickened, vines slithering through her hair like writhing serpents. The Nubian blossoms grew wild and free, transforming into slick-looking Dahlias. Horrified and entranced, he reached up to brush a finger along the length of one, finding it to be wet with gore. At the cessation of his touch, the bloom burst unexpectedly, sending an explosion of blood and petals cascading down upon him. He gagged, spitting out mouthfuls of bloody flowers as he thrashed wildly beneath Padmé. She grabbed his face and cooed softly, stroking his gristle-stained cheeks with a simpering leer.

"Don't you see, Ani? This is the best part," she urged, releasing her hold on him in order to clasp his hands and move them to her distended abdomen. "Can you feel them, my love—our children, our beautiful Luke and Leia?" The thin flesh warped under his palms at her command, but no—they were not human, not even infants; how could they be, when they felt like _this?_ A raging maelstrom of grotesque abominations had wormed their way betwixt the frail tissue and her womb, pressing and surging against the taut skin, deforming it with their fury. Padmé was not with child, unless she was to give birth to foul beasts. A sick sense of horror crawled through Vader's veins, more potent and scorching than even the fiery blaze of the Dark Side. He wrenched his hands out of Padmé's grasp.

"What have you done?" He cried, unable to bear looking at her stomach any longer.

Her empyreal visage twisted in rage, teeth grinding together as a torrent of red fluid oozed from her nose, her lips, her _eyes_ —she was crying blood, thick hot swells of it streaming down her pale cheeks. Padmé pointed accusingly at the slender curve of her neck, where a circlet of blotchy, finger-shaped bruises bloomed along the tender flesh.

"What have _you_ done?" She spat. "To me, to our _children_ —how could you possibly be so monstrous? You mutilated my Luke, tortured my Leia; sought to break their spirits and crush them beneath your heel if you could not control them. You broke my _heart_ , Ani—I had given you all that I had to give, but you weren't satisfied. You always had to have _more._ I hope that you've learned your lesson, my darling—after all, what is a husband without a wife, a father without children, a man without a soul? You have already endured such an existence once before, and it would do you well to chose another path this time."

"I will remedy my past transgressions, Angel—I _promise_. I will be a hero to these people, to _you._ Anakin Skywalker could save nothing, protect _nothing._ But I am different, I am transformed. No matter what price I might have to pay, justice _will_ be executed," Vader breathed, caressing her gore-splattered brow. He would do anything for his Padmé—vow blindly to conquer any number of worlds in her name, slick his hands with the blood of her enemies, raze the very galaxy itself. If she asked him to die, then he would die for her. Vader was less than powerless when it came to her will; she was the only being he would ever bend for, ever submit to.

"That won't satisfy me this time _._ I don't want justice—I want _vengeance._ Destroy the man who killed me, slaughter him like the beast he is; topple his empire and slay his men. All that should be left is ashes, the great adversary exposed as a corrupt being or ruin and rot, his corpse reduced to little more than dust in the wind. Do it for me, the woman you condemned; do it for your children, whom you never really knew; do it for yourself, so that you may finally feel absolved," she commanded, rubbing circles across the tumescent curve of her disfigured abdomen, fierce eyes the same color as the unruly blossoms in her hair and the blood on her face.

" _Yes,"_ Vader hissed. "Of course I will, my love."

Padmé smiled, a great and terrible thing. "Good. I will see you again soon, _Vader_. Do not disappoint me."

With that, the world around them began to dematerialize, the spectral form of his lost love dissipating into smoke alongside their surroundings.

* * *

Vader jerked into awareness, limbs racked with horrible shakes as he convulsed violently. He swallowed down a thick swell of hot bile, and his eyes burned with the pain of shot blood vessels. He clenched his teeth, grinding them together. He maneuvered his legs to where he was bent over the side of the pilot's seat, face pressed into his knees. He barked out a harsh laugh, running a gloved hand through his sweaty fringe. _My Angel . . . I will not fail you this time. I shall die before I ever do so._ He vowed, Darkness coiling inside him like a great, fiery serpent. No matter what chaos and destruction he would be forced to wreak, he would not forsake his her.

"Ana—uh, _Vader_ —what's wrong? I felt your distress through the bond!" Ahsoka cried, running in through the partition. He had untied her several hours earlier, sensing honesty in her renewed loyalty to him—or, at the very least—his cause. She had still deigned to stay back in the hold to keep Obi-Wan—or, Zombie-Wan, as she had lovingly dubbed him—company.

Ahsoka's worry for him rushed through their connection, a great outpouring of nervous tension centered solely around his safety. It was deeply touching, but ultimately unnecessary, as there was no agony or fear present in him—only conviction. He allowed his lips to twitch into a faint grin, and sent her a wave of reassurance through the Force.

"It's nothing, Snips. I just had a bad dream. Be ready to land soon, we reach Coruscant in less than an hour."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Luckily for our lovable protagonist, this was all a dream—or was it? To be visited by those who have passed on is not an uncommon occurrence, after all. To receive false portents is also not unheard of . . .

What does it mean when a man sheds blood in the name of a woman who desires only peace?

The Church of Padmé is always accepting new members, if anyone is interested ;)


	5. Odyssey

**Chapter Five: Odyssey**

* * *

They descended through the thick, murky atmosphere of Coruscant, the planet's heavy smog quickly eclipsing the luminous stars and glimmering nebulae that had become so familiar over the course of Vader and Ahsoka's journey. The incandescent glow of the ecumenopolis intermingled with the glossy, reflective surfaces of the innumerable amount of speeders that rushed through the air, coalescing into a radiant corona of light. A byzantine maze of elegant monoliths stretched towards the hazy sky, their classic baroque design a striking disparity to the stark, clean lines that marked the city's architecture under Imperial rule. This was a city that had changed alongside Vader—transformed by his _own_ hand, even—and he could see himself mirrored in the gleaming metal façades, in the intricate twists of the spires.

The many faces of Anakin Skywalker had looked upon these edifices over the years: the slave boy with grimy skin and a fragile hope in his heart; the unruly padawan, who felt both anguish and bliss with a wild intensity supposedly foreign to Jedi; the heroic knight whose unrestrained passions were fed by the agonies of war and love until they became an all-consuming conflagration; the brutal Sith whose coldness belied the scorching inferno that raged uncontrollably inside what little remained of his flesh; the man out of time and space, who wanted nothing more than to exact revenge on the master who betrayed him, and to be reunited with his beloved wife. This place had been his home, his hell, a veritable paradise lost—and now here he was again, having returned to the city that was a much a part of him as the Darkness that coursed through his blood.

Far below, the sprawling Coruscanti underworld lay unfurled like some sort of wretched, oily flower—or rather, the yawning maw of a strange, tremendous beast, slowly devouring the opulent towers above. Rife with crime and poverty, the underbelly of the great ecumenopolis was a perfect breeding ground for violence and despair. Born into a life of squalor and darkness, Twilighters were often driven to lawlessness by the unholy union of gangs who thrived on exploiting the desperate, and decades of grievous neglect by the Galactic Senate—who, despite their purported 'concern' for the planet's poor—did absolutely nothing to alleviate the systemic causes that beget such misfortune. These were the same leaders who chose to mass produce humans like they were machinery, to create slaves bred for the sole purpose of fighting and dying in the endless battles of a sham war that would ultimately amount to _nothing_.

He could all too easily recall seeing legions of clones with bloodied armor and cracked helmets, having been either grotesquely butchered by their inhuman opponents, or so wounded they were unable to be saved. There had been some campaigns where the bodies had piled up in heaping mounds of red-stained plastoid and mutilated flesh, his army of doppelgängers forced to trample over the corpses of their beloved brothers so that they themselves could live to fight another day. The horrors of the Clone Wars had been so easily forgotten by the denizens of the Galactic Republic—the very same people who his men had fought for and _died_ for—but Vader would carry the scars with him for the rest of his life, remember their sacrifices even as time wore away all traces of the conflict. The grim line of his mouth deepened, and he guided the ship down to a docking bay near the center of Galactic City. He flipped a switch, engaging the lading protocol, and gently settled the craft down.

Vader stalked back through the partition to where Ahsoka and Obi-Wan were staying, finding the two of them sprawled on the floor by the left wall. His apprentice was chattering animatedly to Obi-Wan, punctuating her exclamations with overly enthusiastic hand gestures. The man in question stared blankly at the wall opposite, viscous black ichor dribbling from his mouth and nostrils. The dark veins around his cloudy eyes were grotesquely engorged, and his freckled skin was tinged with a deathly pallor. Vader had never seen a victim of Qâzoi Kyantuska deteriorate to such a pitiful state before.

He reached out across their renewed bond, finding no signs of mental activity. _Fuck_ —this was . . . not good. He hadn't used this particular ability for any prolonged length of time until now, and back on Mortis he had suppressed Obi-Wan's mind with the viciousness necessary for Qâzoi Kyantuska to even work on such an experienced Force-user. It was now becoming abundantly clear to Vader that there was a high possibility that the side-effects were far worse than he'd initially predicted. He dropped to his knees and grasped Obi-Wan's temples, carefully inspecting the man's distorted face and delving deeper into the bond. An empty void met his probes, barren of anything and everything that had made Obi-Wan an individual. Gone was the acerbic and canny 'Negotiator,' the man who had refused to be broken by loss and despair, Vader's greatest and most trusted friend. There was nothing of that person left in the shell that lay before him, leaving behind only a damaged marionette. _Have I already failed you this much, Obi-Wan? I promised to protect you this time, and yet it appears that I may be the very thing to destroy you utterly._

Vader sent out a mental command across their bond, silently directing Obi-Wan to stand up. The man spasmed awkwardly in response, releasing the same rattling groan he had emitted earlier as his limbs thrashed. Ichor seeped from between his lips, sick black vomit dribbling down his chin and robes. His cloudy eyes bulged grotesquely, rolling wildly in their sockets. After several seconds of observing the pathetic spectacle, Vader ceased the order and rose to his feet. He sighed; if Obi-Wan couldn't even comply with the simplest of commands, then his condition had truly deteriorated.

"Is there something wrong with Obi-Wan? You said he'd be okay!" Ahsoka yelled, keen gaze picking up on the correlation between his disquiet and Obi-Wan's strange outburst. She grabbed the older man by the shoulder and pulled him close to her, smearing that strange inky fluid across her chest.

"I . . . may have miscalculated. Qâzoi Kyantuska is an incredibly obscure and dangerous Sith art, so I've used it only sparingly in the past—and as such, have never wielded it on this level before. Obi-Wan may be in far more trouble than I originally anticipated." Vader replied, furiously thinking of ways as to how he could resolve the problem at hand.

"You said that the worst side-effect would be a 'minor headache!'" Ahsoka bit out, rage flaring across their connection.

"That is usually the case with this ability, but I believe that my prolonged use of it—combined with having to suppress Obi-Wan's unusually strong and well-guarded psyche—is what has led to this . . . _situation_. We need to get him to the Jedi Temple as soon as possible so that their healers can see to him. I cannot fix him myself, seeing as Sith cannot heal in the same manner that Jedi can," Vader said, rubbing at his forehead. Ahsoka grimaced at his statement, and ruffled Obi-Wan's gingery hair mournfully. Her despondency quickly subsided, replaced with a surge of fierce determination.

"This needs to be our current priority then, unless your wife is in any immediate peril," Ahsoka responded, gaze flinty.

Vader nearly objected to her statement, but bit his tongue. As much as he craved the embrace of his beloved wife, to witness the soft curve of her smile once more—he could readily admit that Padmé wasn't in any danger at the moment. He could endure a few additional hours of separation from her if it meant saving Obi-Wan's life.

"Very well, Snips," he growled, gesturing for her to get up. "If this plan is to succeed, we shall need to act swiftly. Once we're inside the Temple, there will be little time to deposit Obi-Wan in the med-bay before the Jedi discover our presence. I severely doubt that they'll take kindly to deserters, let alone my being a _Sith Lord_. Discreetness and subtlety are key here."

Ahsoka let out a hysterical little laugh in response. " _You_ —discreet? Is this some kind of joke?"

Vader folded his arms across his chest. "What are you implying about me?"

"I'm not _implying_ anything, Skyguy—I'm outright telling you that you haven't been discreet a day in your life," she snapped, shrugging off Obi-Wan's body and scrambling to her feet. Without her support, Obi-Wan sagged back against the wall, head lolling.

"I can exercise restraint when the situation calls for it," he spat, scowling at her snide comment.

"Please demonstrate this so-called 'restraint' you proclaim to have, _Vader_. Tell me your grand plan for sneaking into the Temple undetected, rather than simply using brute force like we usually do," she said, placing hands on her hips in an overly dramatic display of brazenness. Vader barely managed to resist the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes at her antics. She was _such_ a teenager.

"There's a complex system of air ducts accessible through an outside entrance located on the north side of the building. It's fifteen stories up, so we'll have to steal a speeder in order to even access the opening. From there we make our way through the air ducts to the thirty-ninth floor, where the med-bay is located. We drop Obi-Wan off and exit back the way we came. It's absolutely foolproof," Vader rasped, running a hand across his chin. He had often used the ventilation system to sneak out of the Temple during his time as a padawan, desperately needing an escape from the starkly oppressive monotony of life as a Jedi. The labyrinthine sprawl of Galactic City had called out to him, and Vader wound up spending many a night simply exploring the vast capital, satiating his curiosity and reveling in the sheer joy that accompanied such freedom.

A sly little grin crawled its way across Ahsoka's face, and her eyes glittered dangerously. "Let's get to it then."

* * *

Vader brought the hijacked speeder down into a steep dive, swerving wildly around the curve of a tower and down into a skylane that would taken them directly to the Jedi Temple. He revved the accelerator and sped past several other drivers, wind whipping brutally at his cheeks. Ahsoka was seated behind him, arms snaked tightly around his waist as she held on for dear life. Obi-Wan was thrown carelessly in the back, his body having been tied to the craft with several coils of thick wire. Vader could only hope that would be enough to prevent the man from getting blown off the speeder. The vehicle shuddered beneath him as Vader urged it forward, spiraling into a roll as he narrowly avoided colliding with another driver.

Ahsoka yelped as they whirled around, tightening her hold. Vader resisted the urge to snort; his piloting may be a little . . . _unorthodox_ , but it surely didn't warrant _that_ sort of response. He hadn't even executed any particularly hazardous moves yet, like _this—_ he cut the power, laughing madly as they dropped out of the sky and plummeted downwards. Right before they were about to crash into the skylane below, Vader restarted the craft and twisted sharply into traffic. He accelerated recklessly, the world around him blurring into hazy streaks of light. Soon the massive gray structure of the Temple loomed on the horizon, the sheer size of the building a testament to the success and prosperity the Jedi currently enjoyed under Republican rule.

Vader steered the vehicle up to the fifteenth floor, quickly spotting the small vent he'd described earlier. He angled the speeder into a better position and ignited his lightsaber, cutting through the brittle grate with ease. The black abyss of the building's intricate organization of ventilation ducts was revealed, and Vader felt even more assured of his plan's success.

"This is the entrance," he said, gesturing for Ahsoka to leap over into the shaft. She stuck her out tongue at him, but complied. Vader untied Obi-Wan's body and used to Force to float him across the gap into her waiting arms. He then used one of the leftover wires to clinch the accelerator into gear, vaulting off the craft and into the duct as it sped away. A speeder hovering for a suspicious length of time by the Temple would attract far too much unwanted attention, and the situation was already perilous enough. Vader landed next to his apprentice, heavy boots impacting against the metal with a dull thud.

"The length and breadth of this ventilation system will decrease precipitously as we proceed upwards. Eventually, we will be forced to crawl in order to reach our destination. I will lead and carry Obi-Wan's body, while you follow from behind," he said, hoisting the older man's prone form onto his back.

"Why not just use the Force to aid you instead of just dragging him all the way there?" Ahsoka asked.

"I've already suppressed my Force-presence to a nigh-imperceptible degree, and now I shall occlude it completely. The last thing we need is the Jedi sensing a Sith deep within the heart of their sanctuary," Vader replied, before uttering a low hiss as he initiated Force stealth. " _Odacon_ ," he breathed, feeling the power drain out of both him and Ahsoka as he projected the ability across their bond. Ahsoka gasped audibly as her access to the Force was blocked.

"What have you done?" She whispered, clutching at her chest.

"This is a temporary impairment, Snips—it will last only for the duration of our little _undertaking_ here," Vader responded, moving forward into the labyrinth.

"F-fine. Let's just get this over with, Skyguy. I can't stand feeling like this," Ahsoka muttered, trailing along after him.

They spent the next half-hour climbing through the complex series of metal channels, piping on each successive floor shrinking until Vader was reduced to inching along the cold metal on his hands and knees, his former master balanced precariously on top of his back. Ahsoka grumbled agitatedly as she followed, interjecting a snide comment every couple of moments.

"This blows harder than the madam of a Coruscanti brothel," she snapped, statement punctuated with a dull thump as she planted down an elbow to drag herself forward.

"I don't appreciate your foul language, Snips," Vader snapped, glancing back at her. She stuck out her tongue at him. He snorted derisively and continued along his path, turning left at the next intersection.

"Who in the hells do you think I learned this from, moron? That statement was a Skywalker classic! I can even quote some of your more _infamous_ lines, if you'd like. For example: 'These seppie fucks are so far up my ass I'll be shitting droids by the week's end,'" she retorted, pitching her voice low in a poor imitation of Vader's tenor. He winced minutely at the statement; Skywalker always _did_ have a penchant for spitting out regrettable one-liners in the heat of battle.

"That was a long time ago. Clearly I've matured since then," Vader said, coming to a stop. He ignited his lightsaber and carefully began to cut open a hole into the med-bay below.

"We're finally here? Thank the Force, I think this whole exploit has given me claustrophobia," Ahsoka grouched.

"Can you cease the running commentary? I don't want to be discovered after we've gone through all this effort to try and be discreet," he hissed, flicking off his blade and pulling the piece of metal up into the duct. Vader then turned to his apprentice and allowed a whisper of Light to flow back into Ahsoka. "Are there currently any conscious life forms present?"

She screwed up her face in concentration, projecting her miniscule Force-presence across the room. "Three unconscious, none cognizant," she replied easily.

"Good. I'll lower myself down first. You can pass Obi-Wan to me after; I would prefer not to simply dump the old bastard in there," he returned, eclipsing her access to the Force once more. It was best not to take any chances.

Vader lowered himself through the aperture, touching down with an agile grace that came naturally to his new limbs. Ahsoka clumsily forced Obi-Wan's limp body down after him, forcing Vader to sweep the man into a bridal hold in order to prevent his head from cracking brutally against the hard tile. He glared at his contrite apprentice, who mouthed 'sorry' before flipping into place beside him. She nudged him gently, and they crept over to an empty hospital bed, settling Obi-Wan atop the thin covers. He looked even worse in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the med-bay, by all appearances a dead man. It was a damning sight. Vader pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. This was the best option for his former master—the Jedi were skilled healers who would likely treat Obi-Wan's mysterious affliction with all the meticulous care it required, not to mention the fact that their only other option at this point was a war criminal _and_ an assassin. Vader had no desire to tread that path; the last thing he wanted was to ask _her_ for assistance in solving a problem he himself created.

"We need to leave," he murmured to Ahsoka, who had been gazing at Obi-Wan with watery eyes. Her bottom lip trembled, but she quickly composed herself and nodded sharply. Vader's heart thumped painfully at the sight. He was the progenitor of this agony, despite all his claims of 'fixing things' this time around. What use were mere _promises_ when he had already incited such suffering in the only people he cared for apart from his wife? _Padmé—_ she needed him. He couldn't lose sight of what was most important; he couldn't lose himself to this _guilt_ —not here, not now. Not while his wife was still vulnerable to Sidious' machinations.

" _Now,_ Snips. We cannot get caught here—" Vader was cut off by the soft hiss of the door opening. A healer strode in, deep in conversation with Jedi Masters Depa Billaba and Mace Windu. Vader nearly groaned in frustration. _Of course this happens to me,_ he thought acidly. Windu and Billaba quickly startled to attention, both drawing their sabers and stepping into the opening moves of their respective forms. Windu's sharp eyes darted from the hospital bed where Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were situated, and back to Vader. His lips thinned in revulsion.

"I always knew this day would come, _Traitor_. I sensed this depravity in you even at the tender age of nine. If only the others had the sense to listen to me," Windu spat hatefully.

Vader barked out a harsh laugh, smile stretching grotesquely wide across his face. He had always despised Windu's holier-than-thou attitude. He would be doing the galaxy a service by killing this smug little fuck. " _Gurutek,_ " he intoned, reveling in the blissful scorch of the Dark through his veins as he lifted Force-stealth. His eyes burned with an unholy light, blue irises swirling into a blaze of red fire. "Do not mistake me for a mere apprentice, Windu. Treat me with all the respect you would a _master,"_ Vader rasped, electricity dancing along his fingertips.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Sith Language Translation:  
"Odacon" — 'Hide'

"Gurutek" — 'Ignite'


	6. Pride

**Chapter Six: Pride**

* * *

Windu barked out a harsh laugh, lips curling into a spiteful grin. His dark eyes glimmered maliciously. "I see that your ego has misled you once again, _Skywalker._ You are a master of nothing _;_ you are _nothing_. All that lays before me is a treacherous fool, ensnared by his petty little delusions of grandeur. Even after all these years, it's clear to me that you've failed to shed the chains of slavery—the only difference is that you now serve the false idol of your own base instincts, choosing to reject any hope of true freedom so as to satiate your foul craving for power," he jeered, igniting his saber. The violet light of the blade cast strange, unearthly shadows across his face.

"I am a slave to _no one_ ," Vader hissed, eyes blazing wildly as the sick burn of the Dark coiled and writhed within him. The initial bliss that accompanied his invocation had quickly transformed into a terrible, scorching heat that licked its way through his veins like fire. A swift slide from ecstasy into agony was a distinct mark of the sinister, duplicitous nature of the Dark Side. Vader was intimately familiar with the twisted allure the Sith arts held, as they were ever so cleverly gilded with a thin veneer of splendor—that false promise of power without price—but once torn asunder, the rot beneath lay revealed. There was always a price to be paid, in the end. He just hadn't known how hefty the toll would be until it was too late. Forever deprived of the serenity of the Light when living, then damned to an eternity of suffering in Chaos once he shuffled off the mortal coil. Even the barest touch of the Dark would cast a shadow over a Force-user, be a permanent taint on their soul. Anakin Skywalker had been too blinded by his fear and hatred to see the truth, but _Vader_ —oh, he was all too aware of the consequences such powers carried.

The Dark had settled deep into his bones, been woven into the very sinews of his fleshly body—rushing through his blood as though it were a cruel, inexorable pathogen, a sickness devouring him from the inside out. Vader would call it a parasite, but that would be far too easy; he could not entirely shift the blame from his shoulders. They existed together in a mutualistic, symbiotic relationship—one where his passions fed the savage inferno like tinder, and in turn he was bestowed with strange, terrible abilities no man should ever possess.

Perhaps . . . he _was_ still enslaved, after all—at least to this tumorous growth, seeded with his brutal slaughter of the Tuskens who tortured and violated his precious mother, watered with the blood of the children he'd butchered without remorse. It was so clear to him now, almost painfully so. At his core, he had remained powerless and servile; unchanged throughout the tumultuous horror of his existence. The entirety of his wretched, _pathetic_ life had merely been one long stretch of servitude; unbroken by even the most minute taste of liberty. The masters wore many different faces—Gardulla, Watto, Obi-Wan, _Sidious_ —but that mattered little, because through it all Vader continued to bear the weight of _subjugation_. Even having escaped the grasp of these earthly beings, the oppressive presence of the Dark could not be purged from him.

His sole consolation was the knowledge that it was a prison of his own making, the direct consequence of a choice he could never bring himself to regret. How could he—not when it was all for _her_ , his beloved Angel. Relinquishing his freedom in order to ensure Padmé's safety was a sacrifice that Vader would make a thousand times over. He could not call it suffering if it was in her name. In fact, he would _rejoice_ in such acts if they were for the benefit of his Padmé. A thin smile stretched grotesquely wide across his face, and he could almost sense his wife's presence materialize beside him. Vader exhaled sharply, feeling the phantom press of her fingers dig into the soft flesh of his cheek and down the length of his neck. Her soft whisper echoed coldly in his ear: _Do not forget your promise to me, my love._ His eyes narrowed into slits, focusing on Windu's aggressive stance, wearing a disgustingly pleased expression as he reveled in Vader's apparent distress. Vader's fingers twitched in the anticipation of violence. _No_ . . . he would not forget; he would ensure that her desired vengeance would be delivered, no matter the cost. Vader had failed her before, but not now— _never_ again.

The electricity sparking in his right hand shot out towards Windu, coalescing into a white-hot spear of light. Windu pivoted sharply, swinging his violet blade around to deflect the deluge into the floor. The resulting blast shook the medical center, ground exploding into sharp chunks of tile and cement. Ahsoka lunged for Obi-Wan's hospital bed, pushing it off to the side and out of the line of fire. It crashed against the opposite wall, impact nearly pitching the man off the metal frame. She pulled out her own sabers, the movement inciting Billaba into action.

The woman darted towards Ahsoka, green blade in hand as she twisted into the sharp, rapid movements of Vaapad. The Togruta barely managed to deflect Billaba's attack in time, weapons nearly pressed into the soft flesh of her chest by the sheer force of the strike. _I need a little help here, Skyguy!_ She shouted at Vader across their bond, scraping her blades down the length of Billaba's lightsaber and ducking around the woman. She dropped into a roll and flipped backwards, landing deftly on her feet. Ahsoka's nervous tension was palpable, even hidden beneath the thin façade of confidence she so boldly wore. Vader held no contempt for her, though—she _was_ facing off against one of the most skilled Knights in the Jedi Order in single combat, after all. He was more inclined to commend Ahsoka for her bravery rather than disparage her for being afraid. It was made all the more astounding on her part because just yesterday these people had been her comrades, her _friends_ —and now here she was, willing to toss that all aside for the sake of her loyalty to him.

He couldn't help the surge of affectionate warmth that rose within him, and he sent her a quick message hopelessly tinged with fondness. _You're doing well, Snips. Trust in your strength, and you_ will _overcome this obstacle. Nothing can stand in the way of someone who has given themselves completely over to the Force._ The stiffness drained from Ahsoka's face, and her body gave way to the lithe, easy grace she possessed in battle when uncompromised by weakness. She leapt forward with her blades raised high for an offensive strike, eyes glinting furiously. Billaba met her head on, their sabers clashing fiercely against each other, sending off a thick shower of sparks. Ahsoka twisted to the right and dragged the length of her shoto-style lightsaber down the length of Billaba's exposed side, managing to slice off a piece of the woman's robe. Vader's smile widened; his apprentice had this fight well in hand.

He turned his attention back to Windu, who had been watching the scene unfold with an eerily blank expression.

"This is a pointless effort, Skywalker. Your apprentice's youthful boldness will only carry her so far in a serious conflict with another Force-user. She will fall to Knight Billaba's blade, and for what—a futile attempt at abandoning your _failure_ of an experiment in the Jedi Temple? If you thought that I wouldn't notice the foul sickness that pervades Kenobi, then you're sorely mistaken. It truly is unfortunate that it has to end this way for him, struck down by the black powers of his former padawan—the mark of ultimate disgrace for any Jedi. He is not damned yet, though. I will rescue him from such a fate by separating his spirit from the confines of his earthly flesh, thus allowing the good Knight to become one with the living Force. I cannot stand by idly and let this infection spread and fester within our ranks, even if it means ending Kenobi myself," Windu asserted, calm tone belying none of his mad fanaticism.

Vader had originally planned on killing Windu quickly, but this sadistic bastard had just earned himself a slow, drawn out death. There would be no mercy for him now. Vader raised his organic hand, unleashing another burst of lightning in the expectation that the other man would deflect it away. When Windu swiveled around to divert the electricity, Vader flicked on his saber and launched himself at the man, swinging his blade down in a harsh arc. Windu wrenched his arm upwards, deftly parrying Vader's thrust as his body moved so swiftly that he became a mere blur to the naked eye. Vader pivoted ever so slightly, jabbing his blade forward into short little stabbing motions that were met by what appeared to be dozens of lightsabers as Windu's repeated attacks coalesced into a hazy wall of violet light.

Vader gritted his teeth; true masters of Vaapad were incredibly difficult to defeat in close-range combat. The only way to be on equal footing with them was to predict _where_ they would move, rather than try to repel the attack in the traditional manner. Once the strike became visible, it would be far too late to attempt any sort of counterattack. That was only one portion of his plan, though. Anakin Skywalker's weaknesses could be used to manipulate the situation in his favor, if he proceeded carefully. Windu had no knowledge of his maturation, nor the true scope of his experience in dueling. If he feigned ignorance and recklessness, the other man could very easily be lulled into a false sense of security. Arrogance was the man's fatal flaw, his Achilles' heel—and if that weakness could be used to Vader's benefit, then so be it. He had utilized far more underhanded tactics in the past.

Vader lashed out wildly with his saber, the movement appearing to be motivated by thoughtless haste, as though he was becoming lost to the heat of battle. As expected, Windu met his strike, reducing his speed so as to shoot an arrogant smirk Vader's way. _Success,_ Vader thought, contorting his face into an expression of impotent rage. The other man noticed this, laughing derisively as he twisted sharply in an attempt to knock the handle out of Vader's hand. He let the blade be jerked out of his grasp, and feigned a fumbled attempt to catch it with his non-dominant hand. Windu ceased his movements, a clear indicator that he was about to launch into another zealous rant. Vader resisted the urge to roll his eyes; Windu really _was_ all too predictable.

"This is pathetic. Give up now and your death will be quick. I might even spare your little padawan—if Knight Billaba doesn't kill her first, of course," Windu drawled, tone dripping with disdain.

"I don't really make a habit of just 'giving up,'" Vader retorted childishly, slipping once more into the character of Anakin Skywalker. The vein in Windu's forehead bulged ominously, and his eyes were hard.

"Very well. I see that you cannot be swayed from your path. I shall warn you though, _Skywalker_ —no mercy will be provided to the living. After I end your worthless existence, both Kenobi _and_ Tano will be on the receiving end of my own personal brand of justice. Death will be a welcome escape," he hissed.

 _Ah,_ so this was the true face of Mace Windu—a twisted mask of pride, a man driven by fear of what was considered to be _other,_ of that which fell outside the narrow confines of his strict beliefs. What strange virtues this man must hold, to look on Vader with such furious contempt. Billaba seemed to agree with him, as she paused momentarily in her battle against Ahsoka to look askance at Windu, as though she was truly seeing him for the first time.

"Master, you cannot possibly mean that—" Billaba was cut off mid-sentence by the wet impact of Ahsoka's blades in her chest.

The Togruta had taken a flying leap at the woman in the expectation of having her attack parried, but in her distraction Billaba could not raise her weapon in time. Now she had been run through by a girl half her age, twin spears of light protruding grotesquely from her back. Billaba fell to her knees almost gracefully, staring up at the horror-stricken Ahsoka as she lightly fingered the handles of the sabers. She seemed almost confused, as though she couldn't quite grasp the situation she now found herself in. Blood dribbled from her lips, and she raised a shaky hand to her mouth, fingers coming away red. Billaba's eyes fluttered weakly, breath hitching—and then the woman collapsed, limp body sprawling across the cold tile of the medical center floor. Vader observed the situation with a detached humor. There was a certain irony to Billaba's death, for her to bleed out deep within the heart of the Jedi Temple, surrounded on all sides by comrades unable to come to her aid. He would have laughed, if not for the distress it would have caused his apprentice.

Ahsoka stood frozen above the fallen Jedi, surveying the scene with a blank look of shocked horror. Her hand was clasped over her mouth, and the whites of her eyes gleamed wetly in the harsh lights of the medical center. She heaved out a ragged breath and sank to the floor, gently caressing Billaba's slack face. Her hands were trembling. Vader could feel the raging swell of sorrow and regret rush across their bond, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his lightsaber. This _farce_ needed to come to an end; he just had to coax Windu into letting his guard down once more, and then _true_ justice would be delivered.

" _My Depa_ . . . you killed her!" Windu cried, his fixed state of shock finally broken. He propelled himself at Ahsoka, figure disappearing into a dark blur as he rushed through the air.

Vader cursed under his breath and leapt towards Ahsoka, who hadn't moved from her stooped position above the woman's corpse. She would be gutted if he didn't manage to deflect the attack in time. He landed in front of the Togruta's prone form, body contorting awkwardly as he swung his saber around to meet Windu's strike. The man seemed to appear out of thin air, violet blade impacting with such ferocity that Vader was nearly forced backwards. He gritted his teeth and swept the length of his lightsaber down Windu's, then back up again for another fierce attack. Windu repelled the strike and vaulted over Vader, touching down on the other side of Ahsoka. Vader lunged forward to meet the attack in spite of his poor position, blindly raising his weapon to parry Windu's thrust. He was rewarded with a fiery lick of pain that trailed down from his left eye and across his lips. A thick, tangy liquid gushed into his mouth, and the scent of metal permeated the air. Vader closed his injured eye and reacted on instinct, shifting into a more defensive form as he thrust his blade forward in short, compact stabbing motions.

Windu was forced to jump back in order to gain more room to maneuver, and that's when Vader saw his chance. He rolled over to the side and shot towards Windu's exposed side, saber sinking into his flesh with a wet squelch. Windu cried out in pain, but Vader did not abate. He dragged the blade upwards, ripping the man's abdomen open. Blood spewed out from the wound, drenching Vader's skin and hair. Coils of ropey intestines spilled out from the gash like an uncurled ball of gory twine, and the crudely bisected halves of his spleen and stomach slipped onto the ground, splattering on impact. Windu coughed out a thick globule of blood and hastily attempted to press the organs back inside himself. It was no use—liquid gore and viscera streamed through his fingers, innards breaking free of their fleshly confines. This continued for several moments, before Windu gave one last heaving gasp and lurched forward, gravity directing him towards Vader. The thick scent of metal filled Vader's nostrils as he became closely acquainted with what the inside of a human body felt like. He frantically shoved the other man's mutilated corpse off himself, ragged nails digging into slippery entrails as he clawed his way to escape.

Once relieved of his burden, Vader ran a calloused hand through his sticky hair and spat out a piece of what appeared to be Windu's lung. _How lovely,_ Vader thought acidly, before crawling over to where Ahsoka lay hunched. The girl was still staring at Billaba's corpse, rendered nearly catatonic with dismay. Her morality crisis would have to wait until later, though. The Jedi surely would have sensed the loss of their comrades and begun to mobilize an attack squadron to hunt them down. He wasn't trying to be callous, but there was a time and place for coming to terms with the fact that you were a murderer—but now was _not_ that time. Vader gently touched her shoulder, and when that elicited no response, he nudged her again—this time with more force. Ahsoka let out a small, broken sob and turned to face him. She looked impossibly young, and Vader was reminded that his apprentice was still just a girl.

"I-I killed her. I didn't mean to, but I did. What does that make me then, Skyguy—a killer, a _murderer?"_ She asked, voice hitching with unshed tears.

Vader leaned forward and grasped the back of her neck, pressing their foreheads together. "No, Snips. _This_ —this here, was a _sacrifice_. You cut out a part of yourself—one that is irretrievable—in order to save the life of a beloved friend. I would call that _selflessness._ Such innocence cannot be regained, my dear apprentice. You will bear this weight for the rest of your days. That is why the act of killing is predicated on the suffering of the transgressor," Vader murmured, stroking her montrals.

"I feel hollow—as though someone has taken a knife and scooped out my insides," she whispered.

"This will pass. It is a temporary agony, one that will be washed away by time. All who have taken a life have felt this pain. Just remember what drives you, Ahsoka—whether it be loyalty, devotion, or even _love_ —and this weakness will not overcome you," he replied, kissing the top of her forehead as he pulled away.

Ahsoka's lips curled into a watery smile. "Thanks, Skyguy."

A series of loud bangs echoed through the hallway and into the medical center, followed by distant shouting. Vader muttered several obscenities and scrambled to his feet, pulling Ahsoka up with him. He stalked over to Obi-Wan's hospital bed, and draped the man's prone form over his shoulder.

"We need to leave. _Now_ ," he said, turning back to Ahsoka.

"How are we going to get out of here? We can't use the ventilation system because we ditched the speeder, and we sure as hell can't just stroll out the front door. We're fucking trapped!" She groaned, rubbing harshly at her temples.

"Perhaps not. Am I correct in the assumption that out in the hallway there is a large window situated directly to the left of this room?"

Ahsoka quickly ducked her head out the door. "Yeah, it's here."

"Good. That will be our point of exit," Vader said, pushing past her and striding over to the window in question.

"I'm getting the feeling that you have some sort of a plan in mind," she said, coming to a stop next to him.

"All windows located on the north side of the Temple face one of Coruscant's busiest skylanes. If we get enough of a running start and use the Force to aid us, we should be able to reach a speeder and commandeer it for our own purposes," Vader replied, raising his right arm to blast the glass outwards. He backed up to the other side of the hallway, and then sprinted forwards, taking a flying leap through the opening.

Cold air rushed past his face as he fell, lashing savagely at any exposed piece of skin. Tears budded in his remaining eye, and he ground his teeth together. Vader tightened his grip on Obi-Wan's body as he guided his trajectory with the Force, making sure that the man wouldn't be thrown from his shoulder when they landed. The speeders below increasingly grew in size, indicating that it would soon be time to make his move. Three, two, _one_ —Vader stretched his mechanical arm out, managing to grab onto the side of a medium-sized, gold-plated craft.

The metal gave way under his inhuman fingers, and his body was jerked cruelly to the side as he was carried off by the vehicle. The sheer power behind their forward momentum made it impossible to twist his head around to note Ahsoka's progress, but he could feel her Force-presence swiftly approaching. She hurtled into his back, the force of the impact knocking the breath out of him. The Togruta frantically grasped for purchase as she slid down the length of his robes, making a desperate grab for Obi-Wan's ankle right before she would have been torn away. The added weight wrenched Obi-Wan out of Vader's hold, forcing him to extend his arm in order to prevent the both of them from falling to their deaths. The kickback from the motion dislocated his shoulder, and he let out a low grunt of pain.

He sent Ahsoka an urgent, pain-tinged message. _I can't hold the both of you for much longer. You're going to have to find some way of getting onto the speeder, or we're all going to die._ She responded in the affirmative, and began to awkwardly scale the length of their conjoined bodies. Halfway to her destination, Ahsoka yelped in surprise as she twisted to the side in order to dodge a blaster bolt. Several others followed the first, each coming closer to hitting their intended targets. By the Force, the owner of the craft was literally _shooting_ at them as he tried to maneuver through the dangerous Coruscatni skylanes. _Well this just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?_ Vader thought, exhaling a ragged breath and tightening his grip on the speeder.

"Ahsoka, you must hurry!" He yelled, voice nearly lost to the howling winds that whipped past them.

The Togruta nodded and clambered the rest of the way up, flipping over the side of the craft and onto one of the seats. The driver shouted an obscenity and shot off several more blaster bolts in her direction, but Ahsoka nimbly dodged them and kicked the weapon out of the man's hand. She then executed an agile flip, twisting her body so she could pluck the blaster out of the air. Once Ahsoka landed, she brutally pistol-whipped the man across the face, knocking him unconscious. He crumpled onto the dash of the vehicle, but Ahsoka pushed his body off to the side and engaged the auto-pilot. She bounded back to where Vader lay clinging and grasped one of his arms roughly, attempting to drag him aboard. He aided her as much as he could considering his current situation, easing the strain behind the activity with the Force. When he managed to get one leg over the edge of the craft, Vader heaved Obi-Wan's limp body across the partition. The man impacted harshly against the armrest of one of the seats, but said nothing. Vader placed one hand on Ahsoka's elbow for support and boosted himself into the body of the speeder.

"You're going to need to pop my shoulder back into its socket," he rasped, chest convulsing with his labored breaths.

Ahsoka's mouth pressed into a grim line, but she silently complied, grabbing his bicep and pressing upwards with learned precision. Neither of them had any particular affinity for healing, and their participation in the Clone Wars had unfortunately made this process a regularity. He grunted as he heard the sick pop the humerus made as it was forced back into the glenoid fossa of his shoulder blade. The agony mattered little, though—it was momentary, and a mere distraction compared to the severity of their current situation. Vader patted Ahsoka on the cheek fondly and stalked over to the front of the speeder, settling into the pilot's seat. He disengaged the auto-pilot and brought the vehicle into a steep dive.

"Hey, Skyguy—we've got company!" Ahsoka yelled from where she lay crouched in the back of the craft.

"How many?" Vader asked, not daring to turn his head around. It was difficult enough to maneuver through Coruscanti airspace as it was, let alone with the sharp decrease in depth perception that accompanied the loss of an eye.

"There's about a dozen Jedi on our trail, with what appears to be the entirety of the Galactic City Police Force following behind!" She responded.

" _Edoui zioplys!_ Fine . . . new plan—you take over control of the speeder while I _handle_ our pursuers. Our destination is 500 Republica." Vader growled, getting to his feet and retrieving the blaster from where Ahsoka dropped it. He clipped it to his belt and turned towards the Togruta, whose face was unreadable.

"Are you going to kill them?" She asked quietly, almost like she was afraid of the answer. Vader's heart clenched painfully.

"Not unless I have to," he replied, unable to meet her gaze.

"I believe you," she said, lips twisting into a bittersweet smile as she briefly clasped their hands together. Ahsoka then flopped into the pilot's seat, revving the accelerator and swerving around an incoming speeder.

Vader grimaced, swallowing down a sob. _It isn't supposed to be like this. I thought that I had changed—that I could be a hero in the eyes of those I love once more._ He bit his lip, drawing fresh blood from the lightsaber burn. The pain was grounding, and cleared his head. He couldn't lose sight of his goal now, not when he was so close to being reunited with his beloved. The Dark writhed within him at the thought of her, spiraling into a living inferno that boiled his blood and scorched his flesh. Electricity crackled along his fingertips, and a strange, terrible grin curled across his face. His lip split even further, and blood dribbled down his chin. _My Padmé . . . my beautiful Padmé. It won't be long now; soon we'll be together again._

Vader strode to the back of the craft and used his mechanical hand to pull out his blaster, firing off a precise array of bolts as he unleashed a fierce deluge of lightning with the other. The shots hit their marks, piercing through the thin metal that covered the engines of several speeders driven by the Galactic City Police Force. On impact, the vehicles lost power and veered wildly, dropping out of the sky and into the skylanes below. Three of the Jedi steered their own ships after those lost in free-fall in a desperate attempt to rescue them. The electricity arced along the silvery carapace of another craft, sapping it of its power much like the other. Another Jedi was forced to divert their attention to this matter, leaving eight members of the Order in pursuit. Their numbers were greatly bolstered by the literal army of police officers following their lead. _I've faced worse odds,_ Vader mused nastily, re-holstering the blaster and flicking on his lightsaber.

 _Snips, I need you to slow down—I'm going to briefly enter into close-combat with our pursuers so that I can incapacitate their speeders. Stay close, and retain our original course. I'll tell you when I'm ready to return._ The message was accepted by Ahsoka, who responded in the affirmative. She decelerated the vehicle, giving Vader enough room to take a flying leap at the Jedi-piloted craft located directly behind them. He swung his saber around in a fierce arc, cleaving through the intricate wiring of the engine. The Force-user in question—Ki-Adi-Mundi—lunged towards him with a swipe of his green blade, an attack which Vader parried with a swift upswing. He then twisted sharply and ducked into a roll, barely eluding the Cerean's next strike. Vader vaulted up and over the Jedi, jerking his arm brutally to the side so as to sever Ki-Adi-Mundi's head from his neck.

The decapitated appendage was carried away by the brutal winds created by the speed at which they were falling, smacking into the torso of an officer in pursuit. The velocity of the impact jarred the woman, causing her to yank her steering wheel to the left, a movement that unfortunately sent her spiraling into three civilian speeders. The resulting explosion blasted Vader off his feet and over the edge of Ki-Adi-Mundi's damaged craft. He blinked dazedly as he fell, lashes singed along with his skin from his proximity to the flame. The air rushed past his body, imbuing him with the sensation of weightlessness even though Vader knew he was anything but. The world above was a mere blur, a hazy wash of colors and lights. He rasped out laugh, the sound echoing out as obscene even to his own ears. He laughed even harder, chest convulsing raggedly. By the Force, he hadn't felt this alive in decades. He was flushed with the thrill of battle, the thrill of the chase—and it was _sublime._

Vader thrust his right arm out to the side, saber catching onto the carapace of a dark blue speeder, indicating that it was piloted by a member of the Galactic City Police Force. He curled his abdomen upwards, swinging into a flip that hurled him into the belly of the ship. Multiple blaster bolts were immediately fired his way, but Vader deflected them easily and leapt forward, running him through and impaling the man into the dash of his own craft. He unsheathed his saber from the man's flesh, pivoting sharply in order to redirect a large projectile fired off from above. The progenitor of the missile was a hard-faced woman in her early forties, clad in a Sergeant's uniform and armed with the largest blaster cannon Vader had ever seen. She cut an intimidating figure, and Vader was impressed by her apparent ruthlessness. The remainder of the Galactic City Police Force had gathered around her, weapons pointed his way.

"Anakin Skywalker, we have you surrounded. If you come quietly, we will cease using lethal force against you. Should you choose to ignore my warning, then you will be shot down," she stated in a cold tone, voice magnified by a speaker placed on the lapel of her jacket.

"Oh, you may certainly _attempt_ to kill me, Sergeant, but I sincerely doubt that you'll succeed," Vader retorted, cackling madly. He did not fear these people; he did not fear their superior numbers. All he had to do was trust in the Force, in his own skill with a blade, and he would overcome this obstacle.

"Fire," the woman intoned, her pale, forbidding eyes gleaming with a ferocious intensity.

Vader grinned and raised his blade, the Darkness within him set aflame.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This is a bit of a strange take on how the Dark Side manifests in users, but I thought it would be an interesting interpretation.

Billaba was Windu's Padawan, and was also well-versed in the Vaapad style. She was also the master of Caleb Dume—otherwise known as Kanan Jarrus.

Sith Language Translation:  
"Edoui zioplys!" — 'Those fools!'


End file.
